Ready to Fall
by the everchanging
Summary: SPOILERS FOR THE END OF SEASON TWO. Just a short fic with what I think the future may hold. Kind of angsty.


After meeting Sherlock, time never did move quite right for John.

**Again from the top now and tell my everything.**  
**I know I've been gone for **  
**What seems like forever**  
**But I'm here now waiting**  
**To convince you that I'm not **  
**A ghost or a stranger**  
**But closer than you think**

John couldn't believe that it had only been three years since . . . Since he . . . left. Yes, left. That hollow feeling that consumed him when he saw Sherlock jump never left him. At times, the feeling was like a jagged, open wound. The pain came in pulsing waves. The rest of the time, it throbbed in his chest, and no matter what John did (_images of ruined furniture, of raining skies, of crimes scenes that don't look quite right flashed through his mind_) it would not leave him.

But, three years? No, it had been a lifetime. But even that wasn't quite right. Life stopped when Sherlock left.

* * *

Sherlock brushed the hair from his face. The rain was an annoyance. It obstructed his vision. Though he supposed that some people, _those_ idiots, would probably have that sentimental notion that when it rained, the skies were crying. Of course the sky couldn't cry. But John could. He hadn't in a while, but who knew how often he had witnessed tears pouring down John's face when John thought he was alone. Actually, Sherlock knew, and every time he saw the tears he couldn't stop that weird feeling in his chest from flaring up. But that was irrelevant.

Sherlock refocused on the present and saw John standing under the tree. John had even remembered an umbrella this time, so hopefully he wouldn't catch a chill. He had before. He came to the cemetery quite often, though there were times when he went weeks without visiting. But, now that everything has been taken care of, John wouldn't need to visit the cemetery anymore.

Pulling his collar up again, Sherlock stepped out from behind the statue, mere feet away from John.

* * *

"Sher-Sherlock?" John gasped. No, it couldn't be. He rubbed his eyes. John was pretty sure he wasn't dreaming. But Sherlock was . . . Well, he was dead. There. John finally thought it.

"Of course it's me. No, you aren't dreaming. Now can we head out? We can pick up takeaway before heading home."

John could only stare. But after a minute of Sherlock standing there and nothing happening (_the ground opening and Sherlock falling, an explosion then bits of Sherlock flying through the air, a sudden crack and that ugly red stain blossoming on Sherlock's coat_), he began to hope. Sherlock was here and he was alive. "Sherlock. Oh, God. It's been forever. Why did you leave? Why are you back? What happened?"

* * *

**[H]he said just go on to what you**  
**Pretend is your life but**  
**Please don't die on me**

"It, it looked like you. The body. When you fell. I really thought it was you," John admitted.

Sherlock paused for a moment before replying in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "I know. I heard you." 'Heard you begging me not to die', he thought.

"I had no idea why you would leave." The 'me' was left unsaid but Sherlock had heard John say it enough times before to know it was there.

* * *

Standing on that ledge felt almost surreal. It was ridiculous. He was Sherlock Homes. He didn't need anybody. Except for one person. John.

**Wings won't take me**  
**Heights don't phase me**

It was true. Heights were nothing. If one took ample measures of caution, there was no reason to be afraid of heights. Hell, he even welcomed heights if it got him away from the rest of the fools on the planet.

**So take a step**  
**But don't look down, take a step**

And that voice, _his_ voice, telling him to jump or else John would die. And Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. They (_John_) would die if he didn't jump, and he couldn't think of any other way. All the scenarios, all the possibilities, all of his brain power and he couldn't think of any other way to save them.

**Now I'm standing on the rooftop ready to fall**  
**I think I'm at the edge now but I could be wrong**  
**I'm standing on the rooftop ready to fall**

How dreadfully cliche. Standing on a rooftop, ready to fall. John was talking to him. He could hear the confusion in John's voice, no matter how distorted it sounded over the mobile. Usually, it was amusing, if not a bit exasperating, to hear John confused. At that point, though, there wasn't anything that Sherlock could tell John to ease his confusion. Stating the obvious just wouldn't do.

* * *

**Perpetual motion the image won't focus**  
**A blur is all that's seen**

John's brain was racing as he listened to Sherlock. Something was off, but he couldn't quite tell what. And then he froze. There was Sherlock on the edge of the roof. And, it looked almost like he was going to . . .

"_Goodbye, John._"

* * *

**But here in this moment like the eye of the storm**  
**It all came clear to me**

Sherlock knew what he had to do. He had to protect John, no matter what. He may have been an idiot, but he was Sherlock's idiot. He was his friend, and his friend could. Not. Die.

"Goodbye, John."

* * *

**I found a shoulder to lean on**  
**An infallible reason to live all by itself**

The two men were sitting in silence. John was still reeling from the fact that Sherlock was back. Finally, he said, "You're a bit of an arse, you know."

Sherlock glanced over at his companion. "So I've been told," he replied dryly.

John gulped before he explained, "Before I met you, it was just me. I took care of everyone and I didn't need anybody else. Then you came along, and I spent most of my time taking care of you because you wouldn't do it yourself. You were like an overgrown child; you needed constant attention. You'd rather sit and shoot holes in the walls and complain and make me reach in your coat pocket for your mobile because you didn't want to expend the energy doing it yourself. Yet, I still felt content. Happy."

Sherlock knew that most people would respond with a similar sentiment, but he saw no reason to. John wasn't a complete idiot. He knew how much Sherlock depended on him. There was absolutely no reason to waste the words.

**I took one last look from the heights that I once loved**  
**And then I ran like hell**

Heights were a part of everyday life for Sherlock. Intellectually and physically, there was so much distance between him and the rest of those fools in the world (though Mycroft was much closer than the rest, even if he would never admit it aloud). But, there shouldn't be a distance between him and John. Now that Moriarty was well and truly gone, there wouldn't ever have to be. After all, who else would get his mobile when he was in the middle of an experiment? One thing would never change: Sherlock would go any distance to keep John safe.

**I count the times that I've been sorry**  
**Now my compassion slowly drowns**  
**If there's a time these walls could guard you**  
**Then let that time be right now**

* * *

Time never mattered when he was with Sherlock. Sherlock took over his entire world, because there was no way that anyone could be around Sherlock without being overwhelmed by his sheer presence. Even when he wasn't around, John constantly thought about him and what he would do to have Sherlock back at his side that very instant.

It's been three and a half years since Sherlock jumped. Time still hasn't moved.

Disclaimer: I don't owner Sherlock or any affiliated characters. I also don't own the song, Ready to Fall, by Rise Agaisnt.

_Author's Note: This is for my dear roommate, Alexial Holmes. Thank you for putting up with me and all of my antics dear._


End file.
